


Hold me like we’re going home

by fallingintodivinity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Pining, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 21:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14962119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintodivinity/pseuds/fallingintodivinity
Summary: “Hey, hey,” Dean says, suppressing a shiver as Sam’s giant hands spread over his lower back, huge and warm even through the cheap suit he’s wearing as part of their fake-FBI getup. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m notthateasy.”Sam snorts a laugh against the side of Dean’s head.“Very funny, Dean,” he says.





	Hold me like we’re going home

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still fairly new to this fandom so, umm. Be gentle please? :)

 

When Dean regains consciousness, the first thing he notices is that he’s tied up and lying face-down. The second thing he notices is that he’s lying _on someone_ , both their bodies aligned neatly facing each other and trussed tightly together, arms by their sides. Dean’s nose is mashed into the side of the other person’s face and he tenses up for all of a second, trying futilely to grope for his gun or a knife or any weapon at all, before he inhales and gets a whiff of apple-scented shampoo and cheap motel soap and _Sam_ , then without any conscious input from his brain, his whole body just relaxes all at once.

“Huh,” he says, trying to shift around a bit. “ _This_ is new.”

“Oh, good,” says Sam. “You’re awake.” He turns his head a little, but stops when his nose bumps into the side of Dean’s head.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean’s lying on top of his baby brother so he can’t imagine Sam is particularly comfortable, but at least Sam’s awake and sounds alert, and his body is relaxed beneath Dean’s. A lifetime spent watching Sam out of the corner of his eye has made Dean an expert in all the ways Sam’s body tenses when he’s in pain, curls into himself when he’s _really_ suffering – Dean grimaces and forcibly shoves _those_ mental images to the back of his mind – _anyway_ , point is, Sam doesn’t seem all tense and miserable right now so Dean’s not too worried.

He feels Sam nod, cheek brushing against Dean’s, then Sam seems to realize that Dean can’t see his face. “Yeah,” he says instead. “I’m fine. You?”

Dean wriggles his fingers and toes, tries to move all his limbs a little. “I’m okay,” he concludes after a few moments.

“’kay,” says Sam. Dean can feel him moving his arms, testing the give of the rope binding them together. The ropes are tied tightly but not _that_ tightly, giving Sam just enough room to wiggle his arms up and around Dean’s back, which he does.

“Hey, hey,” Dean says, suppressing a shiver as Sam’s giant hands spread over his lower back, huge and warm even through the cheap suit he’s wearing as part of their fake-FBI getup. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m not _that_ easy.”

Sam snorts a laugh against the side of Dean’s head.

“Very funny, Dean,” he says, working his wrists around so that his hands are turned in toward the ropes around them. He slides his hands along the rope, looking for the knot.

“Ah,” Sam says after a long moment, and Dean feels one of Sam’s hands curl around part of the rope, somewhere near the lower left side of his back.

“Found it?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Just let me – ”

With some difficulty, he slides his other hand over to meet the first one, so that he’s pretty much got Dean wrapped up in a tight hug as he tries to undo the knot. Dean remains silent, keeps his hands by his sides and and tries to focus on not enjoying the situation _too_ much.

Thing is, he’s spent a large portion of his adult life being in love with his baby brother. Yes, he knows it’s fucked up, okay? It’s not like he hasn’t _tried_ to make it go away and all.

He’s always known that he’d gladly give his own worthless life for Sam’s, give his heart and soul and everything else he owns as long as Sammy is safe and happy. But since coming to the rather horrifying realization that in addition to all that, he also wants to kiss Sam and wants his giant baby brother’s cock up his ass six ways from Sunday, he’d panic-fucked his way through a string of women and men in eight different towns before finally admitting defeat. Apparently once you fall for Sam, that’s it, the end, do not pass Go, he’s ruined you for anyone else. Ever.

Anyway, Sam will find out about this only over Dean’s (permanently) dead body, so. Dean’s made his peace with it. He’s been doing damn good hiding it from Sam, and he’s not going to slip up n – _what the fuck is Sam doing_.

The knot has apparently slipped a little further toward Dean’s left, because Sam is now arching up against him straining to reach it. His brother is making little frustrated noises under his breath, squirming under him trying to get at the ropes, and goddamn if all that friction and Sam’s grunts aren’t going straight to his cock, which is starting to perk up.

Definitely getting into ‘inappropriate enjoyment’ territory here. Fuck.

“ _Sam,_ ” he says in his best annoyed-older-brother tone, proud when his voice doesn’t wobble, “what the fuck, man.”

Sam huffs an annoyed breath which tickles the short hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck and sends goosebumps prickling along his arms. Dean mentally curses himself for rolling his shirtsleeves up earlier and hopes fervently that his brother doesn’t notice the goosebumps where Sam’s arms are pressed against his.

Fortunately for Dean, Sam appears to be otherwise preoccupied. “Knot slipped,” he mumbles, and continues fumbling for it and _squirming under Dean_. God damn it.

“Right,” Dean mumbles vaguely. He screws his eyes shut and concentrates on the most disgusting things he can think of. A month ago, he and Sam had had to chase a shapeshifter through swampy algae-filled pools in the middle of a forest somewhere in Maine. That had been pretty gross. He tries to recall the slimy feel of algae slipping against his skin, the damp stink of rotten vegetation, except it isn’t really working because his nose is still pressed into Sam’s cheek and all he can focus on is Sam’s warm, familiar scent and the delicious slip-slide of Sam’s body against his.

He is, in fact, concentrating so hard on willing his overly interested cock down that it’s not until Sam stills under him with a small, breathy “oh”, that he realizes that the hard thing poking into his thigh is most certainly not Sam’s gun, and considering he’s _lying on top of Sam_ , there’s no way that his brother isn’t aware of Dean’s own hard-on trying to poke a hole in Sam’s thigh.

Dean freezes. He’s paralyzed, wavering between passing the whole thing off as a joke (“is that a gun in your pocket, Sammy, or are you just happy to see me?”) and the obscure need to comfort Sam, when his brother takes the decision out of his hands by thrusting up against him experimentally. It’s just a small gentle nudge of his hips, but Dean’s already haphazard thoughts scatter to the four winds and a groan escapes his lips without his permission, echoing loudly in the silent room.

It’s as if, with that one sound, a dam breaks between them and then suddenly they’re grinding desperately, helplessly against each other. Sam is panting harshly against his ear, warm breath making Dean shiver; Sam’s rubbing up against him in all the best ways and Dean can’t _think_ , hips jerking against Sam’s and a litany of filthy words pouring off his lips; barely even knows what he’s saying. All his senses are being inundated with _Samsamsam_ and _wantneedlove_ , the smell of Sam’s shampoo and the searing heat of Sam’s skin, the little needy gasps he makes when he’s aroused, and the one thing Dean wants most in the world right now is for their clothes to be gone, wants to feel Sam’s skin warm and smooth beneath him, wants Sam’s cock sliding alongside his.

Sam is nosing insistently at Dean’s face, his hair tickling Dean’s cheek, so Dean turns his head and then Sam is kissing him, hot and wet and frantic. Dean parts his lips and Sam’s tongue is in his mouth, and he’d thought he couldn’t possibly be _more_ turned on but Sam kissing him like he’s drowning and Dean’s the only air he’ll ever need is definitely doing it for him. God, Sam’s mouth is addictive; Dean is almost shaking with it, with how he can’t possibly get enough of Sam.

Sam drags his hands back down from where he had them around Dean’s back so that his palms are resting against Dean’s; reflexively, Dean grabs his hands, twining their fingers together as he ruts against Sam, both their movements increasingly frenzied, less coordinated.

Dean breaks the kiss first to gulp in a huge breath of air, then as Sam tosses his head back against the floor, so beautiful and wanton and moaning like a porn star, Dean realizes he’s frantically mumbling against Sam’s lips, “fuck – ah – yeah, Sammy, feels so good, baby boy, god, so fuckin’ hot – ”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam gasps, then arches taut and groans and shivers beneath him, a full-body shiver that prickles along each and every single one of Dean’s overheated nerve endings and travels straight to his cock. He can feel Sam’s cock jerking in his trousers, can feel the damp warmth soaking into his skin even through two layers of cloth, and – god, Sam’s _coming in his trousers_ , and _Dean_ did that, wrung each of those pretty little moans and gasps out of his gorgeous little brother and he can _feel_ Sam’s come through both their clothes, hot and damp against his skin –

The blinding rush of his own orgasm takes him almost by surprise and he’s gasping with the force of it, fingers clenching around Sam’s hard enough that his nails are probably going to leave a line of crescent-shaped cuts in the back of Sam’s hands, humping desperately against Sam as he adds to the sticky mess between them.

They both lie there silently for a few minutes after, catching their breath. After his breathing evens out, Sam yawns and makes a few feeble attempts at reaching the knot in the ropes again, until Dean pokes him insistently in the ribs a couple of times, then, grumbling, he makes a slightly more determined effort and actually manages to undo part of the ropes.

The silence between them while Sam’s working on getting them out of the ropes gives Dean ample time to collect his thoughts, and once he’s recovered from the lust-filled haze of the last half hour or so, he’s hit by a tidal wave of guilt – fuck, Sam just had a completely natural reaction to the friction when he was rubbing up against Dean, it’s not like Dean doesn’t know how that works; Sam never showed a single sign that he _wanted_ any of this and Dean just went and took advantage of his baby brother, didn’t he, _fuckfuckfuck_ –

By the time Sam has gotten them out of the ropes completely, Dean’s managed to work himself into a blind panic. He’s screwed everything up completely and Sam’s probably never going to speak to him again – he’s got to find a way to fix this, _has_ to; he can’t lose Sam, wouldn’t survive it. He gets to his feet dazedly, mechanically offers a hand to pull Sam up off the floor, barely hears a word Sam says to him as they make their way out of the house they’d been dumped in and trek to where Dean had parked the Impala.

He gets them back to their motel somehow, couldn’t have recalled the route after even if his life had depended on it. He shuts the door of their room and is halfway across the room so he can lock himself in the bathroom and figure out what he could possibly say, what he could _do_ , to fix this when Sam’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“Dean,” Sam says, his tone neutral.

Dean turns around slowly.

Sam’s dragged the only chair in the room, a wooden one with a thin seat cushion that was once probably red but is now a faded pinkish-gray, in front of the door to their motel room and is sitting on it, arms crossed. He points at the bed that Dean had claimed when they’d arrived at the motel two days ago. “Sit.”

Dean blinks at him. If Sam wants to yell at him, he’s got every right. He drags himself over to the bed and sits down, staring down at his hands clasped in his lap.

“Dean,” Sam says again, then sighs and falls silent.

“Look,” Dean says, finally finding his voice but still not quite able to make himself look his brother in the eye, “Sammy – _Sam_. I know I fucked up.” He runs a hand over his mouth, noting distantly that his hand is trembling slightly. “God. I’m so sorry. I – I don’t know how I can – ”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam says, and he sounds exasperated now, “if either of us fucked up, it was me.”

Dean’s startled enough at that pronouncement that he looks up at Sam. “Fuck, Sam. You didn’t – ”

“No, you shut up and listen to me,” Sam says, brushing his hair back out of his eyes, and yes, he looks exasperated, but there’s affection there too, clear as day even through the little frown creasing his forehead. “I had a plan and everything! I _knew_ you’d freak out about this, I was going to ease you into it gently but, uh, I guess I got kind of carried away earlier and then you wouldn’t _listen_ to me, after.”

Dean stares at him blankly. “What?”

“I had a _plan_ ,” Sam repeats, scowling. “I’ve wanted this,” he gestures between himself and Dean, “forever. And I know you want it too.”

“Uh,” says Dean eloquently. “Wha? How?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You thought I didn’t notice when you went from fucking every single person you laid eyes on to practically becoming celibate overnight?” His expression changes, going a little sheepish. “Also, I came back to the motel early a week after you started the whole celibacy thing and heard you calling my name when you were. Uh.” He makes a vague motion with one hand.

“Right,” says Dean, then buries his head in his hands.

“Um,” Sam says, sounding heartbreakingly uncertain. “You do – you _do_ want me, right?”

The question is so patently ridiculous that Dean’s head snaps right up. “Sammy,” he says, feeling a dopey grin tugging the corners of his mouth up. “I _held your hand_ while we were. Er. Rubbing off on each other. So? You tell me.”

Also? It feels damned good to be the one sounding exasperated this time.

Sam laughs, warm and delighted, and Dean abruptly wants to kiss him again. Reflexively, he shoves the thought away until he realizes that now, he _can_ , and, getting up from the bed and going over to Sam, he does exactly that.

When they part for breath, Sam’s lips pink and wet and a little swollen, Dean grins at his brother and gestures at his stained trousers.

“I need a shower,” he says. “You coming?”

Sam can’t get up from his seat quickly enough. Laughing, Dean tugs him into the bathroom, both of them shedding their clothes as they go.

 

 

End.

 


End file.
